The Elf
by Sixty-four K
Summary: A half-serious, half-humorous retelling of the Hobbit, through the eyes of everyone's favourite elf. After an argument with his father, Legolas is determined to run away and go on his very own Adventure. Gandalf, however, has no patience for the elf's whimsical plans. He has an adventure of his own planned for the young prince.Takes place in the canonical bookverse. On hiatus.
1. Prologue: An Adventure

**_The idea behind this story came to me several years ago, when I first heard that_****_ The Hobbit_****_ was going to be made into a movie. Wouldn't it be funny if Legolas, despite not appearing in the book, was the most important character in the movie? He could kill Smaug, find the Arkenstone and do just about every important job in the book, all while remaining hidden from the company of dwarves. (Un)Fortunately, this didn't really happen- but it could have._**

**_This is meant to be a slightly(not overly) humourous, 'bookverse' story. I have striven to keep this story canon; however, I did take the liberty of giving Legolas two knives, rather than one. Let's just say that, during _****_The Hobbit_****_, he had two knives, and lost the other before_****_ Fellowship_****_, or perhaps changed his fighting style. Please let me know if I've made any errors regarding canon. Despite consulting The Hobbit and the appendix of The Return of the King constantly, I'm sure that I've made a few mistakes. Thank you._**

**Prologue: An Adventure**

It was so many years ago. Of course, time passes more swiftly for the Eldar than for mortals. Nonetheless, it was long ago when my adventures began.

I was a young elf, nearly one millenium old. I was excited, as it was my one-thousandth birthday that year. I fancied myself quite the grown-up, and begged my father, the king of Mirkwood, the privilege of going to Lake-Town, to settle trade negotiations there. The mighty King Thranduil, however, was not thrilled with my suggestion.

"Mirkwood is dangerous enough," he solemnly sniffed, staring from his throne down towards my hopeful face. "You've been bitten by spiders and crushed by falling trees more times than I can count. What makes you think that I would trust you to journey outside the forest?"

I cried. I moaned. I did everything that I could think of to make my father change his mind- but to no avail. The king was resolute in his decision, and not even I, his only son, could sway him.

That night, as I lay in bed, questions floated through my mind, bouncing through my head and resonating whenever they hit on an important point.

"Why won't he let me go? I'm an adult now."

"Well, you are the prince," my conscience reminded me. "The king likely worries about his only son. You cause him a great deal of anxiety. Also, remember that, while you are an adult, your father is thousands of years older than you. He doesn't remember what it is like to be your age."

My inner thoughts rang true, and I knew it. My father had taken my mother's death very hard, and I suppose that I was the only evidence that remained to him of her existence. Whenever I went into the forest, my father would not rest until I had returned safely. This may seem like paranoia on his part, but, having suffered my own losses in the war of the Ring, I can see how my father suffered. The Elvenking of Mirkwood well understood the wise words "the heart breaks that loves a child".

In my selfish youth, however, I cared little for the worries of others. I thought only of myself- my need for glory and fame. At that moment, in the dead of night, I made up my mind: I was going to run away, to find my own Adventure. No one could stop me. I would go where I pleased.

With that thought, I stole down into the palace cellar. This was where our provisions were stored. I filled a sack with lembas, then set about finding other supplies, such as rope and healing herbs. Once this task was done, I swathed myself in a cloak, equipping myself with my hunting knives, my bow, and my quiver of arrows.

As I climbed over the gates of the Mirkwood palace, I stole a glance in the direction of my father's bedroom. I could imagine the horror that would fill his fair face when he awakened and discovered my absence. At that moment, however, I didn't care. All that I thought about was mt Adventure. It was only a matter of getting out of Mirkwood; then I would be well on my way. I didn't expect any trouble whatsoever. I knew Mirkwood like I knew the inside of the palace.

. . . . . . .

Evidently, I didn't know the inside of the palace very well. Truth be told, I had never ventured more than a few hours' distance, so afraid had I been of my father's wrath, and the further away I went, the more unsure of myself I became. The stars, which I loved so dearly, were barely visible beyond the thick canopy of leaves above me. The trees, which, near my home, had seemed good and friendly to me, appeared twisted and evil, roots reaching for my feet, attempting to trip me with every step I took.

Several hours passed. I no longer pretended that I was anything other than completely lost. Yet still I tried to save face.

"If my adar had let me explore Mirkwood earlier, I wouldn't be lost now! He likely didn't even have a valid reason to keep me from exploring. He probably just enjoys sassing back..."

I continued to ramble in a like manner as I stumbled deeper and deeper into the depths of the forest. "Surely it must be morning by now," I muttered. Suddenly, I realized. My father would awake, see my absence, and, not merely content with waiting for me to return of my own accord, would immediately send search parties to scour the greenwood. An infantile panic overtook my senses. I had to get away! Now I ran, disregarding the tree roots which I had earlier taken great pains to avoid. This, however, was an unwise action. One gnarled oak seemed to carry a grudge for me. Its long, twisted root reached out across my path. Inevitably, I tripped over it.

I continued onwards at the same velocity as before, now somersaulting rather than running. My head came over my heels seven times before I flew over a bank, landing flat on my back with a less than graceful thud on the muddy ground, my eyes closing upon impact.

"Are you alright, princeling?" I opened my eyes, only to find myself staring into the face of the venerable-

"Mithrandir," I whispered in astonishment.

"Of all the elves that I have ever known, Legolas Greenleaf," said the wizard, shaking his head in amazement, "you are the clumsiest."

I had not seen Gandalf the Grey, or Mithrandir, as the elves called him, for centuries. He did not often visit the palace of Mirkwood, although he was lavishly welcomed whenever he came. To see him now, in some uninhabited corner of Mirkwood, naturally came as something of a surprise to me.

The wizard stooped down, extending a hand towards me to help me stand. "Are you much hurt?" he asked kindly.

"I am not injured," I muttered, very much embarrassed that the great wizard Mithrandir had witnessed my unfortunate tumble.

Gandalf nodded. "I am glad. But tell me, child. Why does the prince stray so far from his castle?"

A sigh escaped my lips before I could prevent it. "Well, I'm actually trying to go on an Adventure. My father wouldn't let me go to Lake-Town, so I was attempting to go on an Adventure of my own."

"So, you have run away."

I flushed. "I had a valid reason. My father would sooner let me rot in his dungeon than let me have the least bit of fun. I want to do something worthwhile!"

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. "Oh? What, precisely, did you have planned?"

"Well- nothing precisely..." I stuttered. "I suppose that I was just going to search until I found something to do."

"You would cause your father grief for a bit of fun?" asked the wizard.

Shame flooded through me upon hearing the grey wizard's words. Regardless, I attempted one last retort. "Would you have me sit idly upon a throne, like my father, while there is good to be done in this world?"

"Do not be a fool, Legolas Greenleaf," Mithrandir sternly replied. "Your father has been through more than your young mind can comprehend. However," he began, thoughtfully stroking his beard, "you are correct in that there is good to be done in this world. Many people have been displaced from their homes. Men who were once prosperous now scrounge for food. Princes, like yourself, are forced to become blacksmiths and toy-makers in order to make a living. Follow me, son of Thranduil, and I will explain further."

I followed the grey wizard through the forest. Surprisingly, he seemed to know exactly where he was going, whereas I was confused beyond belief.

"Surely, you have heard of The King Under the Mountain," Gandalf stated.

"Yes, of course," I replied. "He was driven out of the dwarven kingdom of Erebor years ago by the great worm, Smaug."

"Yes," nodded the wizard. "Thrain, the King Under the Mountain, and his son Thror and grandson Thorin escaped the dragon's wrath, along with a small, rag-tag band of other dwarves. Of the three sons of Durin, only one is still alive- the youngest, Thorin. He seeks to regain his throne- and rightfully so. It has been far too long since a dwarven king sat upon the throne of the Lonely Mountain."

Now, I did not like the sound of that. I had always been taught that dwarves were cunning, devious creatures. By no means did the elves of Mirkwood rejoice when they heard tell of the misfortune of the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, but they comfoted themselves, saying that it was all for the best. After all, the surviving dwarves would no longer gloat over their vast riches; they would now have to earn a living like honest folk.

"What has this to do with me?" I asked.

"Well, you said that you wish to do some good. Now, my boy, I am giving you a splendid opportunity. A band of thirteen dwarves, which includes the dwarven prince, are setting out from Hobbiton, in the Shire, to reclaim their homeland. They are in need of a fourteenth member- a Lucky Number, so to speak."

"You expect me to become member of their company?" I sputtered, furious that Gandalf would dare to even suggest such an outrageous plan. "My dear Gandalf. I would never even _dream_ of sharing hardships with a company of dwarves. What a concept! The idea is absurd."

"You are too impetuous for your own good," scoffed the wizard. "By no means did I intend for _you_ to be the Lucky Number. For one thing, I already have Burglar lined up for the job. For another, I don't believe that the dwarves would take kindly to an elf in their company. Dwarves, you must understand, are not over-fond of elves."

"Yes I know," I replied. "What, then, would you have me do?"

"I would have you follow the company. Keep an eye on them. An elf who is decently skilled with the bow is a useful addition to any party, and an elf who is remarkably skilled is that much more useful."

I thought over these words. It was true that this Adventure would do good. Nobody deserved to lose their home- not even a dwarf. This Adventure was, indeed better than any that I had thought of. I still was not completely certain, however- until I realized how furious my father would be at the reason for this particular quest. He held a strangely deep grudge against dwarves. At that thought, I made up my mind.

"Mithrandir, I accept your offer," I pronounced.

"Good," replied the wizard. "Perfect timing, too."

For we had cleared the forest, the forest of Mirkwood, which I had never before left. For a moment, I simply stared, amazed at the difference between the thick, leafy forest within which I had always dwelt and the sparse, rocky landscape which now lay before me. Then I sighed.

"I suppose that we shall have to travel all the way to the Shire now? That is a fair distance."

"Yes, we must," said Mithrandir. "But not, perhaps, by the mode you imagine."

To my surprise, with those words, an eagle swooped downwards. He landed both gracefully and majestically, great wings spreading wide. He cocked his head to one side, his bright eyes staring into mine.

"This is one of my friends, a noble eagle from the eyrie of the Lord of All Eagles himself." explained Mithrandir. "He will take us to the Shire. Climb aboard, princeling."

And with that, I found myself on the back of an eagle, flying away from the only home that I had ever known. I was embarking upon an Adventure perilous- one that I would never forget.


	2. Chapter One: Exposure to Halflings

_**Author's note: Each chapter of this story, excepting the first chapter, is meant to correspond to a chapter of **__**The Hobbit**__**. The first chapter of this story is meant to be a prologue. I encourage you to read the corresponding chapter of The Hobbit along each chapter of this story.**_

_**Thank you very much to those who followed, favourited and/or reviewed. It really means a lot to me to know that people like my story. Please continue to review, or if you haven't started yet, please do!**_

_**Responses to reviews**_

_**-pink bunny: Thank you!**_

_**-kasmira36: Thanks! As you can see, your first request has been fulfilled! I plan to elaborate further on Thranduil and Legolas' relationships, so don't worry:)**_

**Chapter One: Exposure to Halflings****_(An Unexpected Party)_**

After flying farther and faster than I believed possible, the eagle left Gandalf and I in one Farmer Maggot's field, in the Shire. As we walked on towards Hobbiton, the town that the Dwarves had decided to meet in, Gandalf explained his plan to me.

"I'm going to need a few days to settle travel details with the dwarves. Now then. I want you to stay in the forest until I am ready for you. By all means, do not show yourself to anyone. Elves are little more than mythology in this part of Arda, and I don't want any sort of disturbance."

I duly agreed, and upon reaching the forest, settled down below a twisted birch tree. Now alone, I could do nothing but think upon my actions. I was now far beyond my father's protective walls, walls both literal and figurative. Indeed, I had dwelt inside the caves of the Elvenking all my life, but I was sheltered mentally and, indeed, spiritually, as well as physically. Never before had I seen the lands beyond the forest where I had been born., and never before had I dreamed of disobeying my father. Now, I was free of his influence, free of his iron hold on my life. But why did I feel so sick and empty inside? Surely I was in the right. Surely the Elvenking had no real authority over the Prince.

I leaned back against the tree that I rested under, reassured by its solid presence. At the same time, however, I felt a strange nostalgia, an indescribable feeling, in the pit of my stomach. What could it be? Then I realized. My father's favourite tree was the birch. He always said that it was the best tree for climbing. I could picture him at that moment: hand over hand, climbing far more nimbly than one would expect, his usually grim, haughty face lit up with a strange joy...

Instantly, I jumped up from my resting place. No longer could I rest here. "Will I never escape the Elvenking's influence?" I whispered bitterly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

One day passed. I was not impatient. I knew that negotiations could take many hours, even days. For my Adventure's sake, however, I hoped that Mithrandir would not be long. One cannot win glory wandering a forest.

Another day passed. Despite my earlier, patient, thoughts, I was beginning to become mildly annoyed with the old wizard. Surely he could have given me some vague estimate of how long his business would take.

At nearly two-o'clock on the third day, I was surprised to hear the sounds of pony's hooves and boisterous laughter. Before this, no one had passed near me during the entire time that I had waited. I remained still, remembering Gandalf's words about causing a disturbance. It was only after the noise had almost completely died away that the thought occured to me: could those passers-by possibly be my dwarves?

I immediately began to scurry after the party with all due speed. Thankfully, my elven feet made little noise, despite the many twigs and leaves that I unavoidably stepped on. As I drew nearer to the group, I realized that it was, indeed, made up of thirteen dwarves, Gandalf, and a small, hooded figure, whose race I could not identify. He was no man; I was sure of that. I had always been told that the height of a man was comparable to that of an elf. This creature, however, was shorter still than the dwarves, who only came up to my waist themselves.

While the dwarves laughed and joked amongst themselves, the only words that came from the smaller creature's mouth were complaints. He complained about everything that could possibly be complained about: the food, which was abominable compared to the fare that he was accustomed to, his discomfort, derived mainly from the bony back of the pony he rode, and the manners of the dwarves, which were anything but refined, according to him.

I followed the party that whole day, keeping a constant watch for danger. Despite, or perhaps because of, my efforts, the day was uneventful. That night, after the party had made camp and gone to sleep, I crept up to Gandalf, who had taken the first watch.

"Not much trouble today, I see," he said, not bothering to turn at my approach. "You are being spoiled."

I simply nodded at his remark. Although it irked me, I had no wish to argue with the wizard. Instead, I scanned the campsite, looking for anything out of order. My eyes, once again, fell upon the blanket-covered form of the unfamiliar creature.

"What is that?" I asked.

"That," said Mithrandir, "is our Burglar."

"I see," I replied. Indeed, I had suspected as much. No dwarf was light-footed enough to be a decent burglar. Although my thoughts were now confirmed, there was still a question in my mind. "I've never seen his like before. Pray, what is his race?"

"Elves who know of them refer to them as_ periannath_,"said Gandalf. "Men call them halflings, but they call themselves hobbits. They were elf-friends once, long ago. Now they chiefly keep to themselves, dealing with men only on occasion. They are a comfortable folk, enjoying food and drink, pipes and gardens more than most. Yet they are not heavy and dull like you might expect; rather, they are light of foot, and often notice details that others might overlook."

"Really," I said, for lack of an intelligent remark. I fell into deep thought, once again. My adventure had only just begun, and I had already learned much. I had never before heard of these _periannath_. Now, I wondered. Did my father know of them? If he did, why had he not told me?

I fell into a black mood at these thoughts. I had no wish to speak further, yet, without warning, one last question leapt from my mouth.

"What is his name?"

Gandalf smiled. "His name," he said, "is Bilbo Baggins."


	3. Chapter Two part one: Self-doubt

_**Thank you so much for your reviews and other support! Also, happy good Friday!**_

_**I have decided to split the chapter "Roast Mutton" into two parts, since it spans such a large amount of time. I apologize for any dwarf racism on Legolas' part. Also, I would really appreciate some concrit. I don't feel as if this story is written as well it could be, so please, if you have any advice for me, feel free to give it! I want this story to be as good as it can possibly be. Thank you once again, and please review!**_

**Chapter Two Part One: Self- Doubt**

Although I would love to claim that my adventures began immediately after setting out upon my journey, I must admit that the next several weeks were uneventful. I followed closely behind the party, looking out for any sort of threat. From a distance, I would observe the group. At first, the dwarves seemed to me to be simply that- dwarves, a strange, short, ugly race, with no love for elves or anything else fair. After a time, however, I began to notice little things about each member of the party, which made them seem as individuals to me, rather than members of a group only. Oin and Gloin, for example, were remarkably skilled at lighting fires, even in the most tumultuous deluge. Dori and Nori were more fond of mealtime than the rest, and Fili and Kili were the instigators of many "harmless" pranks. Those two were the youngest of the party, and, evidently, they felt that it was their duty to lighten any sombre mood that might fall upon it.

The dwarf that I sympathized with the most, however, was Balin, the oldest of the party after Thorin. Although he cracked as many jokes as the rest, he would always look behind him, towards little Bilbo Baggins, as if including him in the joke. It seemed that Balin and I shared a fond concern for the hobbit.

Bilbo and I were similar in that we both didn't seem to belong on this quest. Our cultures clashed quite starkly with the dwarves, albeit in different ways. He seemed to miss his home quite badly, complaining loudly and often about how dreadful it was to sleep on the hard ground, how abominable to be forced to eat this travelling fare. Elves, at least wood elves, were never much for the comforts of home, however, so I could not sympathize with Bilbo much in this regard. I strongly agreed with him in one point, however; the racket that these dwarves caused was nearly unbearable. Their laughter, talking and careless jostling of their luggage was of such a volume that I wondered that no beasts or highwaymen sprang upon us.

The overall mood of the party was light until we passed into the Lone-Lands. The sunny weather faded away to be replaced with storms and , with sombre weather came sober attitudes. No longer did laughter and songs fill the air. Now there was a sullen silence, broken with the occasional grumble. The general mood was dour, as was mine. This now seems to me quite silly and childish, but, at the time, I was quite discouraged. I had embarked upon this quest expecting great danger, yet nigh on a month had passed, and not so much as a wolf had attacked the party. If one had, I am not sure what I would have done, for an arrow in the heart of the beast would surely have alerted the dwarves and Bilbo to my presence.

One dark, wet, cloudy day, I decided to run ahead of the rest of the party and look for any sort of danger on the road ahead. Elves are not easily affected by the weather, and, though it rained heavily, I could continue along the road with nearly as much speed as previously. I had no desire to follow behind the dwarves any longer, for they travelled along at a snail's pace because of the mud and cold. Now, I decided, was the time to make myself useful. After all, these were the Lone-lands. Anything could be hiding around the corner.

My mind made up, I slipped away from my position behind the party. I headed through the woods bordering the road, leaving the dwarves in the distance. I continued along, foraying deeper and deeper into the wood. Soon, the road was completely hidden from my sight. A vague feeling of guilt stirred deep within my chest, but I pushed it away. There was no harm in leaving the party for so short a time- and after all, I was looking out for danger. I was being useful.

Naturally, I then ran straight into what I was looking out for- Danger.

I found myself drawing near to a clearing. The smouldering remains of a campfire burned in the centre, a wooden spit above the ring of stones. A rich smell hung but faintly in the air. Evidently, whatever had been cooked had been eaten or put away hours ago.

My curiosity piqued, I decided to explore further. Scanning the clearing, I found nothing else of note, save some large boot-prints leading away from the fire, up a hill. This was obviously a noteworthy discovery- one worth investigating further.

I followed the prints up the hill. A minute later, I came upon a cave, its entrance blocked by a wall of stone. Putting my ear to the wall, I heard the sounds of someone breathing loudly through their mouth, banging dishes and an indiscernible conversation, spoken angrily and coarsely. I grinned. Here was an Adventure, ready for the taking. These rogues were obviously up to no good- for why else would they hide behind a wall of stone? They needed to be taught a lesson, and I, the prince of Mirkwood, was the best teacher. But how to get in?

I tentatively shoved at the wall, but it didn't budge. It was just as well that it didn't, for attempting to break down the door would only alert the cave-dwellers to my presence. I needed a sneakier way in. Could there, perhaps, be a key?

I scrabbled through the dirt at the foot of the wall, but found nothing. Then, to my surprise, I spotted a doormat at my feet. I smiled. Surely the inhabitants of this place would not be so foolish as to store a key in such an obvious place. I checked underneath the mat. Sure enough, the key was under it- the key to ending these dull days of travel, the key to excitement and Adventure.

I picked up the key. With an unsteady hand, I fitted it to the keyhole, began to turn it- and realized what an utterly foolish idea this was. I had no idea of the strength of these villains within the cave. They could just as well be mighty warriors as oafs. In my desire for Adventure, I was potentially endangering the party. Our quest was only just begun, and I was already ignoring the company's needs in favour of my own.

I backed away from the cave, a deep dismay burning in my heart. I was unworthy of this quest. Gandalf should not have picked me. I was obviously too petty and obsessed with my own desires to be a trustworthy guard. I could not remain a part of this quest. I would go back to Ada, begging for leniency, begging forgiveness, the boy I was.

I trudged back down the hill, through the clearing, and back onto the road. It was a long way home, but this was the only path I was worthy to take.


End file.
